Chapter Four
Allegra
The clock on my office wall ticked steadily, each second bringing me closer to my next appointment. Cooper Moreau. I sighed, wrapping the elastic band on my ponytail tighter. Our last session had ended with an unexpected agreement—he’d actually promised to follow my treatment plan. But promises from men like Cooper were as reliable as Parisian weather in spring.
I gathered my clipboard and headed to the gym to check the equipment, bracing myself for another hour of his cocky attitude and thinly veiled flirtations. But as I pushed open the door, I stopped short. Cooper was already there, his muscular frame stretched out on one of the mats, performing some of the warm-up routines I’d recommended. His tee-shirt strained as his muscles bulged, and I quickly looked down at my paperwork, trying not to stare. He was built like one of the gods. For a second when he strained, I thought I saw a tattoo of some sort right below his collarbone. But he adjusted his position, and the view disappeared.
“Well, well,” I said, unable to keep the hint of approval from my voice. “Look who’s been following his treatment plan.”
Cooper looked up at me, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. The playful mask he usually wore fell away, revealing something darker, more focused beneath. “I told you, Miss Prescott. I want to ride my bike again.”
I set my clipboard down, studying him. His determination, along with the masculine sheen of sweat across his forehead, sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Alright then, let’s put you through your paces.”
As Cooper stood, I couldn’t help but notice how his shirt clung to his body, damp with exertion. His blonde hair was a bit longer than it had been when I first met him, and the longer locks threatened to curl from the moisture on his forehead. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to maintain a professional demeanor. “Let’s start with some range of motion exercises.”
We began with arm circles, and I was pleasantly surprised by his improved balance. “Good,” I nodded, jotting down some notes. “Now, let’s check your hamstring flexibility.”
I demonstrated the stretch, bending forward with straight legs. As I straightened, I caught Cooper’s gaze lingering on me. He quickly looked away, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. It was such an uncharacteristic display of shyness that I almost laughed.
“Your turn,” I said, gesturing for him to try.
Cooper attempted the stretch, his face scrunching in concentration. Without thinking, I moved behind him, my hand on his lower back to steady him. “Keep your back straight,” I instructed, my voice sounding oddly husky to my own ears.
I felt him tense under my touch, the muscles of his back rigid beneath my palm. He was warm against my hand, and I could feel his muscles strain against me. I touched patients all the time, it was a part of my job. But I’d never felt a spark like this. For a moment, neither of us moved. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity I wasn’t entirely comfortable acknowledging.
Cooper broke the silence, his voice tinged with amusement. “So, do I get a gold star for my progress?”
I let out a small chuckle, grateful for the break in tension. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve still got work to do.”
As we moved to the exercise mat for some core work, I tried to regain my professional composure. “We’ll do some planks now. They’re excellent for core stability, which you’ll need when you’re back on that motorcycle of yours.”
I demonstrated the proper form, lowering myself onto my forearms. “Keep your body in a straight line from head to heels,” I explained, looking up at Cooper. His focused attention sent warmth flooding into my face. I could see his pupils constrict as he watched me, and it was as if this appointment had moved into dangerous territory quickly.
“Now you try,” I said, standing up perhaps a bit too quickly.
Cooper lowered himself into position, but his form was a bit off. His hips were too high, his back slightly arched. Without thinking, I knelt beside him, my hands going to his hips to adjust his posture.
“Like this,” I murmured, suddenly aware of how close we were. I could smell his cologne, a heavy mix of amber and something darker, more masculine. It was intoxicating, and I found myself leaning in slightly, almost unconsciously .
When he looked at me, the rest of the world blurred at the edges, leaving only us in sharp focus. “Is this right?” he asked, his voice even lower than usual, sending a silent thrill through me. Watching him hold up his body weight on his forearms definitely painted a risqué picture in my mind.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. “Y-yes, that’s better.” I stood up abruptly, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Hold that for thirty seconds.”
As Cooper held the plank, I busied myself with my clipboard, trying to calm my racing heart. What was wrong with me? This was Cooper Moreau—arrogant, infuriating Cooper Moreau. The man who’d spent the last month making my job infinitely harder with his stubbornness and flippant attitude. And yet…
“Time,” I called out, perhaps a bit too loudly. Cooper relaxed, rolling onto his back with a groan.
“Damn. You’re not going easy on me, are you?”
I smirked, some of my usual confidence returning. “You wanted progress, didn’t you? No pain, no gain.”
Cooper sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. “Fair enough. What’s next?”
We moved on to some balance exercises, with Cooper standing on his injured leg. I stood close, ready to catch him if he wobbled. But to my surprise, he maintained his balance far better than in previous sessions.
“Amazing improvement,” I praised. “You’ve really been doing the work.”
Cooper grinned, that familiar cockiness creeping back into his expression. “Well, I had a pretty compelling reason to follow doctor’s orders.”
I paused, deciding to correct his misconception. “Actually, I’m not a doctor. I’m a licensed physical therapist.”
He raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his features. “No MD, huh? Should I be worried?”
I crossed my arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “Hardly. Physical therapists undergo extensive training specifically focused on rehabilitation and movement. In fact, for your type of injury, I’m far more qualified than a general physician would be.”
“Touchy subject?” he teased, but his tone held a new note of respect.
I softened slightly. “Not touchy. Just important. I worked hard for my qualifications, and I believe in being accurate.”
Cooper nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Fair enough. I get the importance of people taking you seriously, no matter what your occupation is.”
The tone in his voice caught me off guard. It was a side of Cooper I hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability, and it made something constrict in my chest. I cleared my throat, changing the subject.
“Apology accepted. Now, shall we continue?”
As the session went on, I found myself aware of every accidental brush of skin, every shared glance. Cooper, for his part, seemed to enjoy my flustered state, his trademark smirk making more frequent appearances.
“Alright,” I said, checking my watch. “Let’s finish up with some stretches.”
I guided Cooper through a series of cool-down stretches, my hands occasionally moving to correct his form. Each touch felt charged, sending little sparks through my fingertips. I tried to maintain my professional boundaries, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
As Cooper stretched his quadriceps, standing on one leg, he suddenly lost his balance. I reached out instinctively, catching him before he could fall. For a moment, we stood frozen, my arms around his waist, his hands gripping my shoulders. Our faces were inches apart, and I could feel his breath, warm against my cheek.
“Careful,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Cooper’s eyes met mine, and the ferocity I saw there made my breath catch. “Careful isn’t really in my vocabulary,” he said softly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I stepped back quickly, my cheeks burning. “Yes, well, we can’t have you injuring yourself further, can we?”
By the end of the hour, we were both a bit breathless, and not entirely from the exercises. This appointment had been like the world’s longest foreplay session, and I felt my cheeks redden as the thought crossed my mind. I watched as Cooper toweled off, trying not to stare at the way his thick muscles bulged from the exercise.
“Well,” I said, trying to regain my composure, “you’ve made significant progress. If you keep this up, you might be back on that motorcycle sooner than we thought.”
Cooper grabbed his water bottle, taking a long drink before responding. “Guess I have a good motivator,” he said, his expression darkening with a hunger that made my heart race.
I cleared my throat, suddenly finding it hard to meet his gaze. “Right, well, same time next week then?”
He nodded, grabbing his cane. As he headed for the door, he paused, turning back to me with that infuriating grin. “You know, I think I’m starting to enjoy our little workouts.”
Before my brain could formulate a response, he was gone, leaving me alone in the gym, my heart pounding and my mind spinning.
I sank onto a nearby bench, trying to collect myself. What the hell had just happened? I prided myself on my professionalism, and on maintaining clear and firm boundaries with my patients. But something about Cooper Moreau got under my skin in a way no one else ever had. He was a temptation—no matter how hard I tried, I felt myself drawn to him.
It wasn’t just his good looks—though he was undeniably attractive. It was the glimpses of something hiding just beneath that cocky exterior. The determination I’d seen today, the focus in his eyes as he pushed through each exercise, made me wonder what else was hiding behind those carefully crafted walls.
I shook my head, standing abruptly. No. This was dangerous territory. Cooper was my patient, nothing more. Whatever I thought I’d felt today—whatever he thought he’d felt—it couldn’t go any further.
As I gathered my things and headed back to my office, I tried to convince myself that the flutter in my stomach was just a result of a challenging therapy session. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.